


as the good book says

by stirringsofconsciousness



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Jewish, Berte and Krugkoppe, F/M, Gen, but that might help you picture the setting, this is not a Fiddler on the Roof crossover, where everyone is an Ashkenazi Jew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15808008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stirringsofconsciousness/pseuds/stirringsofconsciousness
Summary: “Krugkoppe, you -- you donkey!” Berte fumed. “Of course I would miss you. You're one of my oldest friends. What do you think I am, that I could forget about you?” Her fists clenched, fingernails biting into her palms.“I think you are a woman who is about to be married to the wealthiest man in the village,” Krugkoppe said quietly. “And I don't want to cause you any problems.”---Bughead AU. Berte the cooper's daughter meets with her childhood friend Krugkoppe, the son of the town drunk, the night before her wedding to the wealthy Hyram.





	as the good book says

**Author's Note:**

> the aptly-named loveleee mentioned wanting to see a childhood wedding Bughead fic, I said, "hey, that would be possible as long as everyone is observant Jews, because the betrothal ceremony is so easy to do that children can do it," and then one thing led to another.

Of all the girls in the shtetl of Taykh Taykh, Berte the cooper’s daughter was known to be the most beautiful, the most intelligent, and the most obedient (not like Perle, that good-for-nothing older sister of hers, who ran off with a _goy_  two years ago, nu, people still talked about it, though not in front of Berte’s mother).

So when her father told her that he had finally found a husband for her, she accepted his choice for her without hesitation. Even though it was Hyram the Levi, the widowed innkeeper, who was nearly thirty years older than her and the father of her closest friend Velvela. Even though most people in the village had expected her to marry her friend Avrum, or maybe Reuven, or maybe even Kreindel. Even though the marriage would mean that Berte would have to give up her dreams of travel, and become the innkeeper’s wife for the rest of her days. It was what was asked of her, so that was what she would do.

For all of her betrothal, Berte was -- from sunrise to sunset -- a smilingly serene presence at every party and ceremony, from the tenaim ceremony announcing her engagement to the kiddush lunch Hyram sponsored at the synagogue the Shabbat before the wedding. And if her hands were clenched tightly into fists at these events, no one noticed, or at least no one commented.

After the havdalah service that ended Shabbat, Berte cleaned up the wax from the braided candle, and put away the silver spicebox, and smiled as Hyram said goodbye to her father. And after all the guests had left, and after her parents were both asleep, Berte slipped silently through the door she had purposefully left unlocked, and headed to the river. There she waited for a while, and turned when she heard footsteps, the moonlight shining on her golden hair.

“Mazel tov, Berte,” came a voice from the darkness.

“Thank you, Krugkoppe,” she said as the figure emerged from the darkness, his yarmulke’s frayed edges looking almost like a crown on top of his dark hair. “I knew you’d be here. I didn't see you at the kiddush today.”

“I wasn't invited.”

“Really?”

“Hyram does not invite the son of the town shikker to his celebrations.” Krugkoppe stood only a few feet away from her, but he directed his gaze across the water, bracing one arm against a tree trunk.

“Will you be at the wedding?” Berte asked softly.

Krugkoppe shook his head. “I can't. I have -- a ticket.”

“A ticket?” Berte repeated blankly.

“For a steamship, to Amerika. First-class. I leave tomorrow morning.”

Berte’s mouth dropped open. “You were going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“I didn't think you would notice, in the midst of all the celebrations.”

“Krugkoppe, you -- you donkey!” Berte fumed. “Of course I would miss you. You're one of my oldest friends. What do you think I am, that I could forget about you?” Her fists clenched, fingernails biting into her palms.

“I think you are a woman who is about to be married to the wealthiest man in the village,” Krugkoppe said quietly. “And I don't want to cause you any problems.”

“Problems?” Berte asked.

“It will not do for the wife of the wealthiest man in the village to be seen in the company of the son of the poorest man in town.”

“That doesn’t matter to me.”

“It matters to your husband-to-be.”

“We’ll still be friends!” Berte protested.

“I wish we could, but it will not be.”

“There are a lot of things I wish I could do,” Berte said, her heart beating faster. “But I am marrying Hyram tomorrow.”

“You are,” Krugkoppe said, turning towards her at last. “And yet you are here.”

“And yet,” Berte echoed. “Are you going to ask me why I am here, where I knew you would be?”

Krugkoppe’s smile was beautiful in the moonlight. “Why, Berte?”

“I need you -- “ Krugkoppe came closer as Berte took in a deep breath. “-- to divorce me.”

Krugkoppe nearly fell over in shock. “Di - divorce you? We’re -- Berte, we’re not married!”

“Don't you remember?” Berte said. “You and me, in the schoolhouse? Reuven was making fun of you -- ”

“He was always making fun of me.”

“ -- and he said, ‘no one would ever marry you,’ and I said ‘I would’ -- ”

“That doesn't mean -- ”

“You gave me your old hat --”

“I don't remember this -- ”

“You said to me, ‘Behold, you are consecrated to me with this hat according to the laws of Moses and Israel’ -- ”

“I make a lot of jokes --”

“And I accepted the hat, and you broke a slate -- ”

“Are you accusing me of being a vandal?”

“And you kissed me on the hand --”

“It was on your cheek,” Krugkoppe corrected, then stopped.

“See, you do remember,” Berte accused. “Why are you pretending you don't?”

“It doesn't change a thing,” Krugkoppe said. “We’re not married.”

“We are,” Berte insisted.

“We were children.”

“You’d had your bar mitzvah.”

“It needs to be an item of value. My hat wouldn't count.”

“To you it was valuable, therefore it counts.”

“We never --” Even in the darkness, Krugkoppe’s blush was visible. “We never consummated it.”

Berte didn't blink. “I’m ready if you are.”

“ _Berte_ ,” Krughoppe said her name like he was swearing an oath. “No rabbi would say we were married.”

Berte set her chin. “And yet we are.”

“You can pluck at pilpul all night long, but we’re not married.”

“By the laws of our people, I am consecrated to you, so I cannot be consecrated to Hyram. You must divorce me, or I cannot be married,” Berte said steadily.

Krugkoppe met her gaze. “Ah,” he said. “And so a childhood vow -- ”

“I wouldn’t be bringing this up otherwise.”

Krugkoppe pushed a lock of hair out of his face. “If all you need is to be married to a childhood friend, then you could tell Hyram that you had married Avrum or Kreindel, or even Reuven. Their families are understanding. They would be happy to have you as their bride.”

“I did not marry Avrum or Kreindel or Reuven. I married _you_.”

“I would swear under oath that you had married Avrum. When we were children, you were in love with him -- ”

Berte’s chin jerked up violently. “I would not be so foolish as to marry for love.”

Krugkoppe paused. “You’re very negative about love,” he said. “It's not forbidden by the rabbis. It’s not some newfangled idea from the outside world. It's even in the Good Book. Song of Songs. Jacob working seven years for Rachel's hand. David and -- ”

“It does not seem like an appropriate foundation for marriage,” Berte said bleakly.

“It couldn't hurt,” Krugkoppe said with a shrug.

“‘For a little love, you pay all your life.’”

“A silly saying from simple minds.”

“My sister was in love,” Berte said distantly. “She fell in love with a stranger and left our family, our home. I will never see her again. My parents have forbidden me to speak her name. She left me an address, but they will not allow me to send her letters, they will not even let me have a stamp. They have been so afraid that our family is cursed, that no one will marry me because of the disgrace. When Hyram made an offer for my hand, they leapt at his offer like they were ridding themselves of a cow too old to chew its cud any longer.”

Krugkoppe met her eyes. “You’re not a cow, Berte.”

“It’s kind of my husband to say such a thing,” Berte responded.

Krugkoppe’s shoulders sagged. “I cannot be your husband, Berte. I cannot stand up to Hyram for you. I’m leaving for Amerika tomorrow.”

Berte paused. “Krugkoppe, how are you paying for the passage?”

Krugkoppe didn't meet her eyes. “You know I’ve been working for Avrum’s father Freyde.”

“Yes, and there is so much new construction going on in Taykh Taykh that you can afford a first-class ticket,” Berte scoffed.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Krugkoppe’s lips. “You were always the brightest of all of us, Berte. I’ll never understand why women can't go to yeshiva,” he said quietly. “You could have been a brilliant rabbi and scholar. Instead, shit-for-brains Reuven goes instead.”

“Don’t change the subject. How can you afford passage to Amerika?” Berte persisted.

“You don’t want to know.”

“As a wedding gift, tell me.”

Krugkoppe sighed. “Nu, in a way, it was a wedding gift for me, too, and also a gift for your groom, from your groom.”

“Hyram? In what way?”

“He is a proud man, your intended,” Krugkoppe said. "And a jealous man. He is very happy that he is marrying the most beautiful girl in the village, and does not want any threats to his happiness. If I became your husband, you would soon be a widow."

Berte closed her eyes in pain. “I do not want that.”

“Neither do I,” Krugkoppe said. “Which is why I must go to Amerika. Because he knows that...that if you were my wife, I would never divorce you.”

Berte gave him a small smile. “As a husband, you would not be the kind one wishes to divorce.”

”I love you, too.”

Blood pounded in Berte’s ears, but Krugkoppe didn’t give her a chance to respond. “Nu, maybe it won’t be so bad, being married to Hyram. Your parents won’t be able to stop you from contacting Perle, and you’ll have money to spend as you like. Maybe it’s bashert.”

Berte drove her fingernails deeper into her palms. “Bashert? There is nothing destined about me marrying a man thirty years my senior. There is nothing planned about me becoming the stepmother to my best friend. The Almighty commanded us not to mix fibers or yoke two different types of beast to the same plow. I cannot believe that He would yoke me in this way. If this is His plan, I am crazy.”

Silently, Krugkoppe took her hand and unclenched her fingers. At the sight of the blood on her palms, he said nothing, but dipped his handkerchief into the river waters and gently, gently wiped away the bloody streaks.

“You’re not crazy, Berte.” Krugkoppe’s hands squeezed her fingers for a moment, then dropped them. “But if you’re looking for a similar beast to yoke to you, I cannot be it. I’m as different from you as Hyram is.”

“Krugkoppe,” Berte began to protest, but Krugkoppe went on.

"I am the son of the town drunk, a schlimazel of the highest order. No one in our town will ever see me as anything else. I have no trade, no prospects here. The only item of value I have is a single ticket to a faraway land. A bird may love a fish, but where would they build a home together?"

"What foolish man said that? They make their home where the sea meets the sky, of course," Berte answered. "At the edge of the horizon. Maybe in Amerika."

Krugkoppe laughed. "Amerika, that land where the streets are paved with gold and the birds sleep with the fish.”

"Anything is possible,” Berte said. “And..if you should find Amerika is such a place, I would want to know about it.”

A long look passed between them.

“It is very late,” Krugkoppe said thickly.

“I should go back home,” Berte said.

“Yes,” Krugkoppe said. “Or…Or you could come. With me, to Amerika. Tonight.”

Berte stared at him.

“Come,” he repeated. “Please come.”

A slow smile crept over Berte’s face. “It would be a shame to waste such a wedding gift.”

\---

In the morning, the time for the bedeken ceremony came and went, but no bride appeared to be veiled.

Already on his way to the synagogue, Hyram flew into a rage when he heard that Berte was nowhere in the village.

(“Oh well, Tateh,” said his daughter Velvela. “No use wasting the party. Why don’t I marry Avrum instead?”)

And very soon after that, Berte and Krugkoppe stood in line to board a steamship with two third-class tickets to Amerika.

From her handbag, Berte pulled out the hat Krugkoppe had given her so many years ago, and put it on her head. The soft grey wool sat on her blonde hair like a crown.

**Author's Note:**

> thank to village_skeptic and loveleee, who read over drafts and assured me that everything was comprehensible to people who aren't of Ashkenazi Jewish descent like me. 
> 
> All of the names should be fairly obvious who they refer to: Krugkoppe is a literal translation of "Jughead" into Yiddish and Taykh Taykh of Riverdale. 
> 
> A quick Yiddish/Hebrew - English dictionary:  
> goy - non-Jew  
> nu - the Yiddish equivalent of the Canadian "eh?"  
> shtetl - small village  
> tenaim - an engagement ceremony  
> kiddush - in this instance, a large community meal held after Shabbat morning services  
> yarmulke - skullcap, worn by religious Jewish men  
> shikker - a drunk  
> pilpul - a process of legal reasoning used in Jewish legal texts  
> bashert - destined, ordained by God.   
> schlimazel - unlucky man  
> bedeken - a veiling ceremony for the bride before a wedding
> 
> if there's anything I've missed, let me know and I'll answer in the comments. And please comment! This little story is very close to my heart.


End file.
